


If She Had Not Wounded Mine

by Ambrosia



Category: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caroline, beside him, nearly jumped at the opportunity, but Bingley ignored his sister. “Upon my honor, I have never met with so many pleasant girls in my life. And there are several of them,” Bingley had whispered, nodding his head in a very obvious direction. “That are uncommonly pretty.”</p><p>Darcy had humored his friend. He’d glanced her way, briefly, and his eyes had almost passed over her. Unseeing. “She is tolerable,” he’d said. “But not handsome enough to tempt me. Nor any other man.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If She Had Not Wounded Mine

The thought that Fitzwilliam Darcy might appreciate Elizabeth Bennet for more than just her skill in the deadly arts comes almost so suddenly that he crushes the edge of the card table beneath his gloved hand. Charles might be good natured-enough not to mind, but Caroline, though lacking in physical skill, benefitted from her Judo and Aikido masters. She misses nothing.

Darcy destroys the evidence of his emotional wound with his other hand and makes his excuses. Discipline. Vigilance. That’s what he needs. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies. Gentlemen.” He tells them with a bow. “I should do another circuit of the boundary before the next bell.”

Caroline’s sharp gaze lands on him. “Oh, surely, Mr. Darcy, you could stay for another hand?”

He couldn’t possibly. Somehow Miss Elizabeth's dark eyes have left a hole in the back of his skull even though she has long returned to her suspiciously ill sister upstairs. “Tomorrow night, Miss Bingley.”

He tries to convince himself that it isn’t Miss Bennet that has driven him out of the room, or the sudden tick of unease in his hand. It isn't her that has him jumping out of his seat at every opportunity, going beyond what would possibly be considered proper manners. 

There really isn’t even a reason for him to do another circuit. He’d done one before dinner, and Bingley’s estate was probably the most well-fortified estate in at least a hundred miles in any direction. They had half a dozen of Darcy’s own personal guard stationed at the watchpoints all around Netherfield. And the wall would keep even a large horde from reaching the house itself.

Still, doing a round was almost mindless for him, and oddly comforting. An excuse to get away from a ruined card table that would surely be noticed by morning, but Darcy doubted they would ever suspect him.

It wasn’t so unusual for Darcy to evaluate capable fighters. It was a necessity. He needed to rank their strengths, weaknesses, their likelihood of falling to the undead hoard. It was a skill that he had developed and deployed in the Second Battle of Kent, before his father had died. Necessary. Unfortunate, but his reality. Now it seemed almost as if he could look at a man and know instantly whether or not he would turn for the enemy.

And yet all five Bennet girls seemed adequately trained. A rarity to find so far outside of London. Even if Mr. Bennet _had_ chosen to train them in the ways of the Chinese instead of the Japanese, as was the custom.

He climbs atop of the roof of Netherfield, scanning the distant horizon. If he tries hard enough, he could possibly pick out the burning corpse fires in the distance. The cool air does a great deal to even his mood. Perhaps it had just been a slip of his focus. The card room had been very warm, and full of the heady scent of wine and perfume. Darcy almost manages to convince himself of that very fact, but fails.

He breathes sharp and then deep, feeling a foreign urge to move growing in his bones. This was intolerable. His old masters would have him meditating for days.

And yet he can’t. That clarity eludes him, even as he stares out into the darkness. He frowns, putting a hand against the hilt against his belt and paces, rubbing his temple. Miss Bennet always looks _through_ him, as if she sees all that he has in a moment and moves on. Unimpressed.

 

 

“Come Darcy,” Bingley had said. “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself.”

“I certainly shall not,” Darcy had told him with a scowl. “You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner.”

Caroline, beside him, nearly jumped at the opportunity, but Bingley ignored his sister. “Upon my honor, I have never met with so many pleasant girls in my life. And there are _several_ of them,” Bingley had whispered, nodding his head in a very obvious direction. “That are uncommonly pretty.”

Darcy had humored his friend. He’d glanced her way, briefly, and his eyes had almost passed over her. Unseeing. “She is tolerable,” he’d said. “But not handsome enough to tempt me. Nor any other man.”

 

 

And yet recently, Darcy had been unable to look away. He’d barely noticed the way that the hem of her skirt had been nearly brown with mud, only that physical exertion seemed to make her dark eyes shine even brighter.

And she killed his carrion flies.

It would have impressed him, if perhaps begrudgingly, had she not crushed them in a moment within the palm of her hand, dropping what remained of their corpses into his.

Granted, Darcy had been present in the room to firmly separate Miss Jane Bennet from the living world had she shown even the slightest sign of the sickness, but he had felt justified in this. He would not suffer another failure. Not when Bingley was at stake.

He had two decades of Japanese mastery drilled into his mind and English military strategy and had trained under the greatest Undead slayers in his Majesty’s service and yet he fumbles over how _stunning_ Miss Elizabeth becomes when she has defeated an opponent. Zombie or otherwise.

Darcy hears a crash from somewhere below, and it jolts him. But after a heartbeat he hears laughter. Probably Mr. Hurst with a drink. However, he winces, remembering the crash at the Meryton Assembly. He’d said, rather coldly, “Well, that _is_ unfortunate.”

It was not often that Darcy gets proven wrong. If ever. Another necessity of an Undead War.

And yet, here he is.

Miss Elizabeth was adequately trained. Her skills in the arts were satisfactory. Seeing Miss Elizabeth Bennet sever the head of an undead from his undead shoulders had been pleasing to him. Her self confidence and physical stances were from places of automatic ease, which was surely a sign of someone that was highly trained. Her apparent studies of the original Art of War meant that she had improved her mental capacities by extensive reading and philosophical meditation.

She had a protective nature that he could not fault, because it exactly mirrored his own. An intensity that he found captivating. Strength in battle, skill with her blade. A rare ability to rise to any challenge. But all of these skills were those that might be used on the field of battle. Not unusual for Darcy.

And yet his gaze had turned quickly from professional appraisal and categorization to something else entirely. She was intense, in a way. Bloody and yet undeniably appealing to him. If Darcy was a calm, steady lake, Miss Elizabeth was an earthquake. She shook his shoreline and sent ripples running underneath his skin.

This was getting to be intolerable. He, he needed to train. The inner courtyard was outfitted for his needs, so he made his descent back down from the rooftop, already shrugging out of the leather coat across his shoulders.

Yet even through his forms, he could not forget standing still, struck dumb, next to Bingley as wave after wave of Unmentionables fell against sharp metal, wondering at the way that his breath seemed to get caught somewhere in between his lungs and his head. Mumbling out the first words that occurred to him.

 

 

“I am finding that Miss Bennet’s face is rendered uncommonly intelligent by her dark eyes,” he had told Bingley without thinking, the sword going slack in his hands. “Her figure is light and pleasing, and her arm is surprisingly muscular.”

“Indeed,” Bingley had said, though Darcy was now sure his eyes had not been on the same Miss Bennet his own had been.

**Author's Note:**

> why aren't there any fics for this fandom I will drag all of you down with me
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.valorious.tumblr.com)


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